


pulcherrimus

by serenlty



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Body Worship, Comfort, I did my best this was hard yall, M/M, past ritsumao mention too, ritsu is mentioned, written for kinkmeme AGAIN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 17:29:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10541172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenlty/pseuds/serenlty
Summary: prompt: Makoto doesn't have a lot of self esteem, Mao wanted to show him that he is beautiful in his own way.(enstars kinkmeme fill)





	

**Author's Note:**

> pulcherrimus is a latin word meaning "the most or very beautiful", the highest degree of the adjective "pulcher" (beautiful)  
> i finally got to write makomao and im So Glad

Makoto doesn’t like heartache. Who does? But, watching the carefree, light-hearted interactions between Mao and Ritsu, he can't help but feel like heartache is something he might have to get used to. It's something he's seen for a while (everyone knows how close the two childhood friends are), but changing circumstances make them hurt a lot more than they ever used to. 

Mao loves Makoto. Makoto knows. But he also knows that he will always be second to Ritsu-Mao’s precious Ritchan, his precious childhood friend, and who is he to intervene? That's okay though-he can just busy himself, distract himself with Subaru, teasing and playing jokes on Hokuto when watching the two friends gets to be too much for him. 

But, it’s just a physical distraction. It's nothing that can keep him safe mentally, from self-doubt, from self-consciousness, too worried about seeming needy or annoying or irrational to confront Mao. Even on the rare occasions they can spend a night together (usually passing it off as ‘unit activities’), when he’s falling asleep in Mao’s bed, in Mao’s arms, satisfied and feeling pretty damn loved, there's still a little bit of nagging doubt that always leaves Makoto waking up with a dull headache and a chill down his spine. He knows it's dumb, the absurdity of it all makes him feel sick to his stomach. Yet the feeling resembles a plague-inescapable, dragging him further down every day. 

He knows that his jealousy goes beyond stupidity- it’s unfounded. Apart from Ritsu and his sister, Makoto doesn't think Mao cares for him more than anyone on the planet. Mao said so himself, after all. Yet he can't help feeling too-protective, obsessive when he sees Mao carrying Ritsu to school. He smothers the feeling, because the last thing he wants to do is infringe on Mao’s personal space and relationships-he knows from experience how that can be troubling. 

It's after one particularly grueling day of classes that leave Makoto with a stubbornly stinging paper cut and a nearly-broken glasses lens that his stupid, baseless jealousy decides to rear its ugly head. He heads home early, departing from Trickstar practice under the pretense of studying for an upcoming test. Mao offers to help him study, even offering to cancel a plan with Ritsu, but Makoto waves him off. 

Studying becomes a bit of a lie, turning into more of an emotional meltdown that completely overtakes any studying that could be done. A few minutes and a lot of water helps that, but he's still too distraught to be practicing any of the equations for the test, let alone be doing them correctly. Frustrated with himself more than anything, Makoto finds that miserably slumping over his desk is the best way to sit, tapping his fingers in absentminded patterns on the dark-colored wood. 

It must really not be Makoto’s day, as the normally smooth desk decides that now is a perfect time to chip and splinter. Recoiling in pain, he stares at the nail-sized wooden shard just barely embedded in his fingertip. It’s easy enough to pull out, at least, it doesn't seem to be bleeding. Resuming his position, Makoto opts to sit in tap-free silence instead of risking another splinter. 

Unfortunately, as silence tends to do, this silence allows Makoto to start thinking again. Particularly about Ritsu, and Mao, and what was going on between them. Makoto’s relationship with Mao was more than emotional-it was physical as well. They hadn't explicitly slept together yet, but there were other things that had certainly happened between them. The fear that Mao could betray that made him shake-Ritsu and Mao had a more-than-friends relationship in the past, one with a vicious breakup that almost destroyed everything the two had ever had. The dust had settled, luckily but Makoto always worried that it had settled a little too much. 

“Makoto?”

The blonde jumps, surprise suddenly grabbing his heart and making his pulse accelerate. No one is home-his mom won't be for another few hours, until the small hours of the morning at least. Not moving from where he sits with his head pressed against a textbook, he recognizes the voice coming from his doorway as Mao’s a few moments later. There's the sound of footsteps on his floorboards before a warm hand pats the top of his head, running through his hair gently. 

“Are you okay? I wanted to check on you, and you left the front door open and unlocked. You left really early today.”

Makoto lifts his head to look at Mao, and he knows it must be obvious that he had some crying breakdown the second he got back to his room. His eyes still feel heavy and too-wet, his nose and cheeks warm and lips a bit dry. He bites his lower one, blinking up at Mao, sniffling a little when the room feels a little too quiet. To Makoto’s surprise, Mao suddenly grabs him by the back of his shirt, pulling him to his feet with a surprising amount of strength. Was Makoto really that out of it that Mao couldn't get his attention any other way? 

“Come downstairs, you should stretch out and eat something.” Mao prompts, grabbing Makoto's hand and pulling it a bit so that Makoto will follow him. He hears the rustling of a plastic bag as Mao pulls him, and spots one swinging in his free hand. 

It turns out Mao had bought snacks at the local convenience store, anticipating staying up late to get all of his student council work done to have a full day off the next day. However, he opted to share them with Makoto instead, insisting that he was more important than some paperwork. It’s not much, but the sugar makes Makoto a little better and a little more alive. Promising Mao that he feels better and really needs to get back to studying, Makoto makes his way upstairs. Mao follows up, saying he’s there now so he doesn't mind helping. His sister is having friends over for the night anyways. However, the second Mao closes the door, it's becomes clear that he's thinking beyond studying. 

“Are you jealous of Ritchan?”

He turns to face Makoto, eyes serious. Makoto doesn't respond, embarrassed and a bit surprised by how Mao confronts him so directly. Everything Makoto’s ever wanted to say, to question about this topic suddenly runs from his mind, only stuck with the thought that Mao will be angry at him for being jealous of a friendship. 

Then again- Mao has always been a perceptive and understanding person. Makoto isn't quite sure why he's so horrified by the situation. Nonetheless, words stick in his throat, unwilling to cooperate and come out. He opens his mouth before closing it again, finding that all sounds escape him, and gives a small, ashamed nod instead. His face feels hot, head suddenly spinning and his fingertips tingling where they hang by his sides. 

“I’m sorry if I made you think I care for him more. My time with him is in the past, Makoto-you're my present, and I’m so sorry if I did anything to make you think I don't love you anymore. Because I do, I really, truly do. More than I could ever love him.” Mao looks Makoto in the eyes, letting Makoto see the almost nervous honesty there, and Makoto can see how Mao’s hands twist nervously behind his back before reaching forward. He has to appreciate how strange it must feel for Mao, to admit that Ritsu-the one he always ends up being associated with-isn't the person he loves the most. Yet,  
Mao still finds the words to convey it. 

Mao steps forward even more, taking hold of both of Makoto’s hands; and with one in each of his own, Mao does his best to continue the look straight into Makoto's eyes. However, it’s the blonde who's eyes waver, looking down at the floor and again, nods his head yes silently. His throat suddenly feels tight again- like those stupid tears will come back and make an even greater fool of him. 

“I get nervous,” is all he says, dropping Mao’s hands and meeting the other halfway when Mao all but lunges to throw his arms around Makoto. Makoto rests  
his head on Mao’s shoulder, his swimming eyes closed and breathing in the familiar smell of Mao’s clothes, his skin, his hair. It manages to provide comfort in the way only truly beloved things do, but his heart still pounds fiercely when Makoto tries to speak again. 

“I always feel like there’s something I’m doing wrong...like I’m not good enough, or that I’m letting you down. He’s so cool, put together, and I’m...well, I fell down the stairs today because a bug scared me. I don't know why you'd give him up for me...” Makoto can't help but laugh at his own stupidity. He doesn't like the feeling of inferiority, yet it refuses to leave him all the same. Mao probably thinks he's just looking for trouble, or something. 

“Being put-together has nothing to do with this, Makoto. I’m not so shallow as to pick someone based on that. I just want to be with someone who makes me happy. That's you. And quite honestly, you're much more put-together than him. You don't need me to come in and dress you every morning, do you?” Mao’s fingers tap a gentle pattern onto Makoto’s back. 

“I mean, that sounds pretty nice. But I don't need it, I guess.” Makoto admits with a laugh, and he can see the slight smile of Mao’s reaction out of the corner of his eye. 

They stand like that, in each other's arms, for a few quiet minutes, Makoto eventually explaining his the full extent of worries (he’ll never be good enough, he's not talented or beautiful enough for someone like Mao or for anything in general) with minor emotional overflow and Mao, continually and apologetically trying to comfort the other. When it seems Makoto is calming down a bit, Mao reaches for his head, his hand slowly, purposely trailing down the side of Makoto's face. Makoto knows what’s being asked of him, letting Mao kiss him gently before pulling away. 

“You're beautiful. Who told you you weren't?” Makoto doesn't answer, and pulls away when he feels Mao’s grip on him tighten ever-so-slightly. 

Mao follows Makoto, even when the blonde takes a step back. He kisses Makoto again, but grabs Makoto’s shoulders before he can pull away, holding him in place long enough for Mao to run his teeth over Makoto's bottom lip, gently. It sends a shiver down his spine. 

Then again, so does Mao, backing Makoto into the wall, asking him if he can spend the night, suddenly talking about how he wants to be able to show Makoto he loves every part of him as much as he tells him so. 

“You're not just trying to make me forget something, are you?” Makoto regrets the words the second they leave his mouth. Mao backs away like Makoto just hit him, looking hurt, like he wants to say something sarcastic in response that he'd regret. 

“Makoto, there isn't anything for you to forget. You’re my everything now, okay? I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to realize that.” A pause. “If it's a bad time, I get it. But I genuinely want you, I want you to feel good, and I want to show you that. Someone as wonderful as you shouldn't have a reason to be so down.”

Well, considering there’s no school the following day, Makoto can't really find a way to argue with that. He takes a moment to discard his glasses, more concerned with breaking them than a little blurred vision in the distance. 

“Mao, uh. I’m sorry if I freak out.” His arms cross over his torso protectively. “You know how I am, I get a little anxious with this kind of stuff...haha..”

“It's okay. Tell me if you're uncomfortable, I’m not here to make you feel bad.” The words relieve Makoto than he would care to admit. After modeling, being seen as just a pretty face, it means a lot to him for someone to care about the person and body attached to that face too. 

However, Makoto doesn’t realize just anxious this could make him until it’s most certainly too late to do anything about it. Surely, if Izumi somehow finds out, he’ll kill Makoto-or worse, Mao. And if Ritsu finds out...forget it, he’s a goner for sure. He knows that Mao is his, after all, but he's not sure if the others know that or will accept it either. Yet, he can’t bring himself to give up, and to pull away. The press and warmth of his body against Mao’s is too potent, it always has been, and so is the way Mao’s hands tangle and just barely pull at his hair, glad his glasses are long forgotten. His face feels weirdly empty without them, but can clearly see everything he probably needs to and there are much more important things to focus on than the way the bridge of his nose feels a little tingly.

Mao steps even closer, into a space Makoto didn’t know was there, pushing the blonde even further into the bedroom wall behind him. Never before has he been so grateful for the fact his mom works so many hours a day, he decides, when Mao pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and bites, sucking on the slight mark. If Makoto could figure out how to form the words, he’d definitely ask where Mao was learning this. Of course, Mao had a past with Ritsu, but Makoto didn’t want to think about that with Mao pressing him into a wall.

Mao finally leaves Makoto’s sore, swollen lip along, decided that Makoto’s neck is a better place to bite instead. Makoto chokes on his next breath, an awkward noise leaving his throat and his hands tightening in the back back of Mao’s shirt-which he laughs at a little, muffled by the skin under his lips. After leaving what will definitely be a mark in the morning, Mao pulls away to push Makoto towards his bed. Getting the hint, Makoto sits on the edge. Mao quickly follows, undoing the buttons of Makoto’s shirt and settling his mouth on the part of Makoto’s skin that had been covered by the shirt- perhaps trying to spare his dignity and not leave him covered in marks.

Mao looks at him, and his face makes Makoto feel like turning into a tomato. His cheeks are slightly flushed, lips red, green eyes dark and almost fogged over. Makoto knows he probably looks no different, but something about seeing calm, collected Mao getting so...un-calm...works wonders on him. As he had previously been leaning over, Mao straightens up, unbuttoning his own shirt and proceeding to throw it somewhere in the room, to be picked up at a later time.

“Was that too fast? Sorry, Ritchan was always a little, uh, overeager.” Mao’s small bites turn into soft kisses,  
pressed across the skin of Makoto’s stomach, one hand finding one of Makoto’s. His skin is warm, and Makoto thinks like he can feel Mao’s heartbeat-although it might just be his own, instead. He shakes his head no, still not really sure how to form words but not wanting to refuse Mao.

“Come on, get comfortable,” Mao prompts, pulling away to let Makoto readjust on his bed, head resting on his pillows as he looks up at Mao. His eyes flutter shut again, unable to meet the darkness of Mao’s eyes, until he feels a warm hand on the side of his jaw.

“Are you sure? You’re allowed to say no, you know that, right?” Makoto nods yes, biting back a remark about how they've touched each other before, on different occasions than this one (not that he would say that, it would be entirely too embarrassing!), and bringing a small, what he assumes is relaxed-looking, smile on his face.

“It’s just a little...overwhelming. Not that that’s bad, you’re just so…” Makoto’s eyes roamed again, gazing over each part of Mao that he could see. He knew the other was athletic, played sports, but he didn’t realize just the effect that had on Mao’s body. 

“You should talk. I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again. You’re beautiful, Makoto. Anyone who thinks otherwise is blind.” Mao leans his head on Makoto’s chest, one finger drawing absent-minded patterns on bare skin. His eyes glance up at Makoto, a brief flash of a glance so intensely loving that it make Makoto's breath catch a little. 

“You can keep going, you know,” Makoto responds, ignoring the comment about his looks entirely. He knows by the way he pauses for just a slight moment that Mao catches it, knows he’ll probably say something later, but for now Mao opts to sit up instead, readjusting himself so he’s straddling Makoto’s lap. It’s the first time Makoto realizes how hard he is, they both are, and it forces a little exhale from his nose. The swirling, warm feeling low in his stomach only grows when Mao pinches one of his nipples-gently at first, then a little harder, until his mouth replaces the finger. Makoto hears the murmur of Mao’s name before he can stop it, but Mao doesn’t seem to react.

Mao’s teeth bite down ever so slightly on the sensitive skin, and Makoto makes some embarrassing whining noise that he didn’t even know he could make. Mao pulls away, remarking on how cute Makoto’s reaction was, before his fingers replace his mouth and his mouth moves to his other nipple, repeating the same process. Makoto makes that stupid noise again, maybe a little less embarrassing this time, curling the toes on his right foot and flexing that leg a little bit.

“Good?” Mao asks, smiling like he knows the answer already. Makoto nods. 

“Continue?” Makoto’s a little disappointed when Mao pulls away, but that disappointment is replaced when he sees Mao undoing his belt, the button and zipper on his pants before stopping again. It’s a sudden change, but not one he can object to. Makoto doesn't respond, suddenly feeling his anxiety spike again.

“Are we going all the way?”

“I don’t know, what do you want to...you know..” Makoto looks away, unable to answer the question without feeling embarrassed. Yes, hell yes, he wants this, but how can he vocalize that without feeling completely humiliated? He knows Mao won't mock him whatever he says, but words don't seem to come to him easily under such a strong gaze. 

“I’m asking you. I’m comfortable with whatever you’re comfortable with.” There’s a pause before Makoto nods his approval.

“Yes.”

“You're anxious.” One of Mao’s hands, the one he’d held before, finds Makoto’s again to give it what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze. 

“I’m anxious for anyone to look at me like this,” Makoto admits with a sigh, hand returning Mao’s gesture.

“I don't have any problems with it, I promise.” Mao’s voice is still calm, leaving Makoto wondering how his self-doubt hasn't driven the other insane get. “One day, I’m gonna make you stand in front of a mirror just so I can physically show you every part of you is perfect, okay?

“I’ll start here, with your hands.” Mao presses the hand he’s holding to his lips, eyes still not breaking contact with Makoto’s. “They're always warm and soft and comforting. I’d hold your hands forever if I could, trust me.” 

Mao’s mouth trails up Makoto’s arm, sliding towards his shoulder with soft kisses every few centimeters. When he reaches the curve of Makoto’s shoulder, Mao changes direction and continues until he reaches the other’s jaw, then to his lips. They’re still soft and pliant against his, if not red and maybe a little chapped. Mao pills back after a log moment and with his free hand pokes the top of Makoto’s nose, watching as green eyes quickly cross and uncross.

“You have the cutest nose I’ve ever seen. Actually, your whole face, I lied. Your hair is nice too, it always smells nice and it's soft,” Mao says, running his free hand through the messy blonde strands. Makoto looks up at him silently, seemingly transfixed as he nods a little bit. 

Mao’s next move is to trail kisses down Makoto’s abdomen until he reaches his stomach. Makoto tenses under him, ticklish, something that Mao tries very hard to not take advantage of. As any idol’s would be, Makoto’s stomach is more toned than he’ll let on-Mao can feel the flat muscles moving under soft skin when his hair tickles the area. 

After his hands reach for Makoto's waist, lifting his hips up to slide his pants off and drop them somewhere off the side of Makoto’s bed. He takes one of Makoto’s legs in his hands, mouth traveling down the inside. He can hear Makoto’s breath hitch the further down he travels, one hand running circles into the side of the blonde's thigh as the other holds the weight up. 

“I’d love to have legs like yours, too,” Mao comments, face turned and pressed into the side of Makoto’s inner thigh when he speaks. The words are just audible enough for Makoto to hear. “I know Subaru always says you have stick legs, or something,” Mao adds. “but you should really tell him to look in a mirror sometime.”

“Do you really think all of that?” Makoto asks when Mao pulls back. “I still think I’m kinda plain, I guess-” Mao shuts him up with a kiss, one hand reaching to tangle in Makoto’s hair and the other finding his hand once more. It’s similar to the deep kisses they shared earlier, Makoto finding his senses filled with Mao’s presence eve more than just moments ago. 

“Would I lie to you?”

Makoto shakes his head no. 

“Can we...continue...now? Stuff’s in the top drawer of my dresser,” he half mumbles, half asks. 

“Of course.” Mao nods, sliding off of Makoto and his bed, walking to his dresser to grab something that Makoto doesn’t bother to look at. He’s too busy looking at Mao himself, starting to feel a bit less puzzled as to why someone like Mao, who Makoto thinks could probably get anyone he wanted in his bed with a little work, would want someone like him, of all people.

When he returns. Mao sits on Makoto’s thighs, just barely keeping his weight on Makoto. He pulls the blonde’s underwear down past his hips, then shifts himself to get the clothing completely off. Mao doesn't move after that, eyes running up and down Makoto's body. 

“Don’t just look, it’s embarrassing!” Makoto insists, hands covering his eyes not realizing how pushy he sounds in his embarrassment. His hands come to cover his whole face when he hears Mao laughing, lightly running one finger up his length.

“I’ve seen you naked before, Makoto,” he says, pretty bluntly. Makoto groans into his palm, this is too embarrassing for him, but Mao doesn’t seem to notice. One finger becomes one warm, slightly calloused hand stroking him, hands losing focus on covering his face when they really want to be grabbing and touching Mao instead. When one hand becomes something definitely more slick, hotter, Makoto drops his hands away from his face to look, because there’s no way in hell that Mao would-

Oh.

Mao leans back and looks up, settled between Makoto’s legs, the very tip of Makoto’s dick resting on his lower lip. He sees the shock in Makoto’s eyes, meeting it with a wink before focusing on the task in front of him. Makoto can’t help himself but to grab Mao’s hair, not pulling him off but just pulling, back arching in pleasure. Mao feels too good around him, warm and wet and everything he probably wasn’t when he’s tried to do this.

Mao pulls away a little so just the head of Makoto’s cock is in his mouth, swirling his tongue over the tip and trying to lick up what’s dripping from the length into his mouth. It’s not as hard as he remembers from the last time he did this, which he’s grateful for, because struggling with this isn’t something he’d really like to experience again. Especially not when he wants Makoto to feel good. When his breathing is a little more steady, he breathes in through his nose, remembering that he has to do that now, and takes all of Makoto into his mouth.

He worries that was too much for a moment, feeling how Makoto twitches in his mouth, hands pulling sharply in his hair. He hears the shocked cry of his name leaving Makoto’s mouth when he hollows his cheeks a little, sucking on the intrusion as best he can, nowhere near perfect in his mind. In that moment, he's mostly focused on not accidentally biting Makoto. 

Makoto comes to realize why Mao wasn’t using his hands when something cold and kind of wet-feeling pokes at him much further back. Before he can completely process what happened, one of Mao’s fingers is in him-it doesn’t necessarily hurt but it feels weird, and he squirms a little, clenching down on Mao’s index finger.

“Relax, Makoto, you’re okay.” Mao pulls up right away, slightly out of breath with saliva dripping down his chin and his pupils blown wide, eyes slightly red-rimmed. He pulls the finger back a little bit, then slides it further back in, trying to get Makoto used to the motions before he adds more. When he does, it’s one more finger, carefully pushing in against a much tighter stretch. He runs his free hand along Makoto’s cock, making sure he isn’t completely going soft. He knows he has to be careful-it hurt his first time, Ritsu was definitely not gentle or careful enough, and he wouldn’t want Makoto to experience that.

“Okay?” He asks, looking up at Makoto’s face. His eyes are closed but he doesn’t look pained, hands resting by his sides like he doesn’t know exactly where to put them.

“Yea, just different...you don’t have to stop, though.” Makoto manages to respond, unsure of how he’s forming any coherent words. Mao nods, slowly spreading his fingers. Makoto grits his teeth at that-it stings, and it’s unfamiliar, he reasons, trying to keep calm. Mao’s fingers join together again, sliding a little deeper in before spreading, and some strange white-hot pleasure shoots up Makoto’s spine.

He doesn’t really know what kind of sound he makes, but judging by the way Mao repeats the motion, it wasn’t an unattractive one. The blood rushing in his head suddenly makes it a little hard to hear, everything muffled and fuzzy. He grabs in the direction he thinks Mao is in, desperate to touch when feels himself relaxing, until Mao’s fingers pull away a little and that burning fire he felt is gone. They return fast enough, however and Makoto’s previous fear starts to dissipate, turning into shaky moans and gasps and digging his nails into the bed under his back. 

“Spread your legs a little more,” Mao tells him, a third finger poking at him. Mao’s free hand strokes Makoto’s dick again, and Makoto nods as his vision swims a little. Without the intense pleasure coursing through him a little bit of that anxiety returns, that something will go wrong, Mao won’t like it, someone will end up getting hurt, they’ll somehow get caught.

“Makoto, relax. Everything’s going to be perfect. You are perfect.” Mao’s always been good at seeing his insecurities, which should probably be a bit more concerning to Makoto than it actually is. “If you’re too tense, this will just be harder.” Makoto nods, taking a few deep breaths and trying his best to consciously relax his muscles. It must work, as a couple moments later Mao’s fingers slide in. It’s not as bad as he was prepared for-sure, it stings and burns a little, but it’s not as bad as he expected.

When Mao’s fingers spread Makoto lets out an involuntary hiss, pain and some strange pleasure sparking up and down nerves. Mao’s mouth is suddenly back on him as well, licking up the sides and sucking on the head while still focusing on his occupied hand. 

Muscles relaxing, the pain starts to fade from Makoto, turning into a dizzying heat. Mao’s hand and mouth suddenly feel relentless, but he can't say he minds- not when the swirling in his gut feels like a growing bubble, ready to pop. Makoto’s hands, which have found their way to Mao’s hair, tug and pull, likely undoing the hair clip in the process. 

“Mao, I-i’m..aah..” his warning comes out as more of a whine than actual talking, spoken words, but it seems to get his message across. However, it also leads to Mao redoubling his efforts, free hand holding under Makoto’s back when his mouth sinks down completely again. Makoto makes a mental note to thank Ritsu later, and maybe apologize for stealing Mao. 

Mao manages to time a swallow around the head of Makoto’s dick perfectly with a curling stroke of his fingers, and Makoto knows he's coming before he feels it. The feeling comes a moment or two later, crying out something probably embarrassingly loudly, the feeling amplified by the fact that Mao doesn't pull away. Almost surprised, Makoto watches Mao pull away after the deed is done, wiping the back of a hand over his mouth like he's just had a glass of water or something. Despite feeling spent, Makoto reacts to that small action, heat already beginning to course through his veins. Just watching Mao strip the rest of his clothes is enough to make his mind feel a little fuzzier, a little hotter. 

When he comes to again, Mao’s already prepared himself-put on a condom, slicked himself up, with one of Makoto’s legs over his shoulder. One of Mao’s hands reaches for one of Makoto’s, and he intertwined their fingers with a gentle smile.

“I’m ready when you are, Makoto.” Makoto nods a split second later, voice still a little bit shaky when he tries to reassure Mao that he's as ready as he can be. 

“Yea. Go. I’m okay.”

Mao kisses him first, distracting Makoto with the warmth of his mouth when he pushes in. The head doesn't hurt too badly, Makoto thinks, relieved excitement fizzling low in his stomach when that feeling suddenly sparks into pain. His muscles tighten and clench reflexively, and Mao pulls away with a sharp exhale. 

“Hurt?” He sounds almost out of breath. 

“Yes…” Makoto admits with a sideways glance. He remembers what Mao said about relaxing, digging his fingernails into Mao’s hand as he tries to do so. Mao slides in a bit more, slower and more carefully. 

“I’m in,” he announces. “Are you alright?” Makoto nods, risking a glance down to where one of Mao’s hands holds his hip up, to where they're connected. The sight reinforces the idea that this actually happened for him, and Makoto closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing audibly. 

“It feels...full. And hot, really hot.” He clenches, experimentally, not missing the noise Mao makes in response and stopping when it starts to hurt. He's totally going to feel this in the morning. 

“You can go. Just..start careful? Please?” Mao nods, leaning back over Makoto to press gentle kisses all over his face as his gives a small, experimental thrust. True to his word, he starts with slow, gentle motions, and deciding to leave another mark on Makoto’s neck for good measure. 

“I love you so much, you're so perfect, I hope you know how incredible you are…” the words rush out of Mao in one breath. He reaches down with one hand to strike Makoto’s dick, doing his best to tease the head with his thumb and forefinger when his own vision is doubling in pleasure. It seems to be the right move, as Makoto’s back arches, the blonde sucking in a sharp breath and whining under Mao’s touch. Mao repeats the motions, more forcefully, and he clenches down again. Mao’s voice catches on a pretty moan of Makoto’s name, his thrusts growing faster and harder as Makoto warms up to him. 

Makoto suddenly cries out and Mao fears for a moment that he's in pain, but the way his arms reach for Mao’s shoulders, pulling him close says otherwise. Forced to lean closer as Makoto drags red marks into his back, Mao uses the opportunity for another kiss. This one is much messier, open-mouthed, teeth-clacking, the kind of thing that would bother him if he wasn't so distracted by the way Makoto clung to him. 

“I’m not..lasting much longer…” he warns Makoto, feeling pressure building within him. 

“Me...neither...you're incredible too, I love you, never leave me...” Makoto’s words turn into a nod of agreement, heavy breaths turning into moans when Mao starts jacking him off again, biting at the shell of Makoto's ear. 

“Come for me, Makoto,” Mao whispers, and that out-of-breath tone pushes Makoto over the edge, coming over Mao’s hand. Mao makes a last-ditch effort for one more kiss when he comes as well, moments later. His arms shake, barely supporting his own weight when he's done, exhausted. 

Makoto closes his eyes, still breathing heavy and grimacing at the strange feeling when Mao pulls out. There's the feeling of the mattress shifting under him, the sound of a plastic water bottle crinkling, and then he registers Mao cleaning what spilled onto his stomach with damp tissues. 

Then, the light is turned off and Mao’s warmth is back at his side, pressing gentle kisses over what they both know will be bruises in the morning and throwing an arm over the blonde. He’s warm and comforting, leaving Makoto feeling safe in Mao’s arms. 

“I love you, even though you did this to me.” Makoto comments with a tired laugh, gesturing to his neck, nearly poking Mao in the face when he does so. Nose buried in Makoto’s neck, Mao shakes his head no with a laugh. The soft kisses continue, placed randomly on Makoto’s shoulder and arm. 

“Don't your lips hurt from that?” Makoto asks out of pure curiosity? running a hand through Mao’s hair. 

“I can't really feel them. so no.” Mao continues for a few more moments before pulling away and rolling onto his stomach. 

“Thank you, Makoto,” Mao says suddenly, in a position where he can look Makoto in the eyes. Looking back at Mao, hair unpinned and features shining in the slight moonlight, Makoto feels his breath being taken away; blessed to have someone as beautiful and as caring as Mao Isara. 

“You did all the work..I just kinda lied there and tried not to look awkward..” Makoto complains. His legs are sore, his ass is kinda sore, his throat is a little sore, but it was well worth it. 

“Ridiculous. The only way you could look ugly would be if you swapped faces with the Vice President Hasumi. Please don't do that, by the way.” Mao adds with a laugh. His face falls emotionless for a moment, before looking to be contemplating something. 

“You know I love every part of you, right?” He falls back onto his side. “You're gorgeous, and kind, and funny, and I’m just the blessed guy who gets have all of that.” Mao props himself up with one arm, running his fingers through Makoto’s hair. 

“Don't, I’m all sweaty and gross!” Makoto insists, jerking away. Mao, however, follows him, pulling Makoto closer and continuing to run the soft, blonde strands through his fingers. 

“You're no sweatier than I am. And you're not gross, shh. You heard me.” Mao presses a finger to Makoto’s lips, silencing him. Makoto gives into the pampering, letting one of Mao’s arms hold him close to the other’s torso while his other hand strokes Makoto’s hair. They fall into a comfortable, sleepy silence, until Makoto breaks it. 

“Am I really that amazing?” He curls a little tighter into himself, as if that will block out the negative thoughts threatening to ruin his glowing mood. Mao has a way with words, he knows, but Mao is also an honest person. 

“Of course, why wouldn't you be? And I’m not gonna stop telling you that to you realize your own self-worth. Even if it takes a year, even if it takes ten, even if it takes fifty.

“I love you.” He says, matter-of-fact. Makoto feels his face flush warm-he still can't process that this is Mao Isara, well-liked, kind-hearted, valedictorian type, student council president-in-the-making Mao Isara holding him close and praising him.

“Like, a lot,” Mao continues. “You're beautiful and talented and smart, you're going places and-” he cuts off when he hears a suspicious sniffle from Makoto’s side. 

Before he can ask him to, Makoto is turning over to face Mao, throwing his arms around Mao as best he can while lying down. Mao feels warm tears dripping onto his skin, running down his torso, and he lifts Makoto’s head up. Without hesitation, he places gentle kisses over each one of Makoto’s eyes. 

“Sorry, sorry, I don't know what happened,” Makoto tries to explain, waving a hand. “I love you too, I really do.” He wipes under his eyes, trying to hide the completely obvious fact that he was crying. His face burns more, embarrassed by that display of emotion. 

“These are happy tears, right?” Mao asks, catching one on his fingertip and wiping it off on his shoulder. Makoto nods wordlessly. 

“Good, that's all I want to see from you.” Mao fails to muffle a yawn into his arm, stretching at a weird angle to not disturb Makoto. “We should get some sleep, though, it’s late. And then we have the whole morning to talk and enjoy each other’s company.” Mao decides, following a chorus of yawns from both of them. Makoto nods, adjusting himself a bit so that he and Mao end up fitting together like puzzle pieces. A morning with just Mao, maybe curled up in bed and talking about meaningless things-that sounds nice. Really nice. 

And as an added bonus, Mao’s warm embrace is sure to chase away any lingering self-doubt he may have.

**Author's Note:**

> me, starting this: don't make it too long  
> me, looking at my final word count: oops  
> lately this account has been the mao ship bot but i love my boy very much okay  
> thank you for reading!!  
> twitter @RLTSUMAO


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